


M'Mother

by ana



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Family, Grief/Mourning, Mother-Son Relationship, Songfic, Soup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-19
Updated: 2012-03-19
Packaged: 2017-11-02 05:04:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/365288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ana/pseuds/ana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I know there's a touch of AU in the Olivia part but it ties in to my Snow Bash fic (incomplete) so I've left it in there.</p><p>The lyrics in the first part and last part (in italics) belong to Kate Bush - This Woman's Work (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UXzx--YefD8)  I initially used all the lyrics but it took over so I had to cull it.   No idea why it suddenly resonated with Padma and Alys but it did - for me anyway!</p><p>Thanks to Gwynne and K for the beta read and I hope you enjoy reading it.</p></blockquote>





	M'Mother

**[In the blink of an eye]**

_Pray God you can cope  
I stand outside this woman's work  
This woman's world  
Oh, it's hard on the man  
Now his part is over  
Now starts the craft  
of the father... _

**“I have to.”**

**“You go - you kill us both.  We have to stay here.”**

**“I promised you a doctor and I’ll find one. The baby’s coming - I have to do something!”**

**“By leaving?  Don’t be an idiot!  You can’t go - don’t leave me here you stupid, stupid fool!”**

_I should be crying, but I just can't let it show  
I should be hoping, but I can't stop thinking  
Of all the things I should've said, that I never said.  
All the things we should've done, that we never did.  
All the things I should've given,  
but I didn't…_  
  
 **I’m frozen**

**I see it all the time - I see the nerve disruptor - I see the aim - I see you fall – I see me not saving you  - I see me not catching you – I see you fall – I see you fall – memories burn - I see you for the first time - I’m holding you for the first time – I can protect you – I can – don’t leave - it’s too soon - it’s all too soon – it’s not fair – it’s not fair – it’s not fair - I want it back - I want it all back – I see the nerve disruptor – I see you for the first time -  
**  
 _Give me these moments back  
Give them back to me  
Give me that little kiss  
Give me your hand_

**I reach out**

**I see you – a stretched out moment – only you - you’ll live - our son will live - I don’t know why I know - I see you fall - I reach out – memories flood me - I see you for the first time - I’m holding you for the first time – I can protect you – I can – don’t leave - it’s too soon - it’s all too soon – I see the nerve disruptor – I see you for the first time – I -  
** _  
All the things that she needed from me  
All the things that she wanted for me  
All the things that I should've given -_

_But I didn't…  
_  
 _Oh, darling, make it go away…  
Just make it go away…_

***

Every year she would listen to that song.  Every. Damn. Year.  For years Ivan hadn’t known.  But one day he’d been dropped off home a day earlier from Imperial Scouts (because of something that _wasn’t_ his fault) and he’d heard the song from his mother’s room – heard it over and over and over.  Eventually he had knocked and entered - and seen her face.  Grief, palpable harsh grief and a terrifying anger he’d rarely seen; she asked him to leave the room.  He left - scared and embarrassed.

 _One day of morbid indulgence_ , she explained laterin a distant voice _just one day, to mourn and remember - to release it.   Do you understand?_

 _Yes,_ he lied.

They never spoke of it again. 

But it was done now.  He knew.  He couldn’t undo it.  He’d seen a side of his mother that he couldn’t draw a line under.  This was different from the public offering at his father’s plaque.  This was the side no one saw.  This is what she put herself through on her wedding anniversary and Ivan would always be sent away, but he always found a way to return.  He never went into her room, but he bought her some cake and left it in the kitchen because he didn’t know what else to do.  And his mother liked cake.

And then one year she stopped listening to that song.  Her contradictory comments about his father became more affectionate, more subdued and she stopped wearing her mourning grey.

Ivan carried on buying the cakes, though.  It was one of their rituals, one of their traditions. 

He hadn’t thought about that song, the words and the grief until his talk with Dowager Vorsmythe. 

***

**Imperial Residence – (Another) Celebratory Betrothal Dinner for Laisa and Gregor**

“So Martya Koudelka rejected you, young Ivan?”

“I-“

“Oh do sit down, boy.  You’re giving me a crick in my neck.”

Ivan dutifully sat down next to Dowager Vorsmythe.  He reflected that it had been quite a while since his mother had volunteered him keep the Dowager company, guarding other guests from her sharp manner. Ivan wasn’t sure how old the Dowager was but she’d been a Dowager for as long as he could remember, always dressing in mourning grey and pearls, and leaving a trail of overpowering floral perfume wherever her small stout figure went.

“If I’d turned a proposal down as publically as that girl, my mother would have had me horse whipped through Vorbarr Sultana!  These modern girls,” she tutted, “a horse whipping would do them a lot of good.”

She was also known as The Dragon.  She turned her small almost black eyes to Ivan’s and poked him in the chest with her bony finger.  “But if you’d gone through a Baba no one would be gossiping about this at all, so you only have yourself to blame.” 

Ivan doubted that; Martya was Martya after all – not one for keeping things to herself.  But no one was gossiping that he’d been rejected by Delia; if she’d told her family they were keeping it to themselves.  _Small mercies_.  Ivan let the Dowager carry on; most of the time she didn’t require any kind of response, only that you listened.  You had to pay attention, though, because she would get really pissy if you didn’t and she could always tell.

 “And then there’s your mother,” she said but she said it thoughtfully and Ivan followed her eyes to where his mother and Simon were talking. 

“It’s quite a sight to see your mother looking so happy.”

 _She wasn’t unhappy._ “Hmm,” Ivan said.

“So how long have you known about them?” the Dowager bluntly asked him and then smiled. “Or didn’t you?”

“It’s between m’mother and Illyan, none of my business,” Ivan said neutrally.  _And I wish people would stop asking me for the inside scoop; as if I would say - even if I knew._

“A safe answer as always Ivan.  You are your mother’s son.”

Ivan replied with a nod of thanks, hoping it was a compliment.  As this was The Dragon, you could never tell.

“You know, young Ivan,” she continued, “the one thing I have always admired about your mother is that she keeps her cards close to her chest, so close that most of the time you don’t know she has any cards at all - until she reveals them.”

Ivan allowed himself a proud smile and she nodded.  “Yes, you of all people will know this very well; a hard woman to read your mother, even for me.  I’m sure the Emperor has never appreciated how fortunate he is to have her in his circle, although - it’s a shame she couldn’t have found someone better for him than that short, fat, Komarran chit,” she said with a snap in her tone and a shake of her head and Ivan just barely stopped himself from protesting – it would backfire if he said anything, she would only demolish Laisa further. Then she sighed. “But the Emperor is just a man, and very few men realise the sacrifices women make,” she gave Ivan a penetrating look, “for their family, or for the Imperium.”

“Men don’t make sacrifices?”  Ivan asked dangerously, trying to turn away from the Dowager’s look and turn her away from this conversation, which was drawing out unwelcome memories.

“I don’t believe in coincidences, young Ivan.  The Emperor’s betrothal, your mother parading her relationship with Illyan -”

“Those are correlations,” Ivan said. _Parading?_

She waved a hand. “Don’t interrupt me, boy!  I’ve always wondered why your mother never married again,” the Dowager continued, “she had a queue of men wanting to take your father’s place, _some_ of them good men.”

Ivan didn’t even blink, but recalled one of his mother’s suitors with an inward shudder.  He looked around, hoping someone would come over but he doubted it.  The Dowager didn’t attract company.

The Dowager continued: “It looks like Illyan took that place and none of us knew – one can’t help but speculate on the _when_ of it.  But your mother is true Vor, doing her duty before thinking of herself – I admire her loyalty and discretion. Illyan is hardly a catch, but he’s respectable.” Then she poked Ivan’s chest again.    “And of course she had you to take care of, probably hoping you’d be out of her life and married by now.  I bet you never thought of that.  All children are ungrateful to their parents’ sacrifices; that never changes,” she said with a weary sigh.  “Most of my children are ungrateful ingrates…”

And then she began listing the faults of her sons and daughters and contradicting herself often with how proud she was of some of them.

Ivan said nothing even if she was right about some things - his mother had not only hoped he’d be married by now, she’d planned it.  But the fury of having his mother’s life picked over stopped him from thinking on this too much and he knew the worst thing to do was to let the Dowager bait him, so he kept his cool.  Unfortunately the Dowager was a good barometer of what people were talking about and it gave Ivan a nauseous feeling.  _I should be used to this_. 

She gave him a shrewd look and patted his leg.  “Your mother’s son.  Helga’s doing very well by the way.”

Ivan cleared his throat.  “I was meaning to ask.”  Helga was one of the potentials his mother had dangled his way but was now married.

She snorted a laugh.  “I don’t know why.  I know you had no interest in her and for your sake I’m glad.  A potential shrew - just like her mother, you had a lucky escape.”

“I’m sure she isn’t,” Ivan said dutifully, genuinely not thinking there was anything shrewish about Helga at all; her mother on the other hand… But he was well used to the Dowager’s harsh opinions of her family, and too experienced to fall into any trap of agreeing with her.  It was important to disagree with her when she said such things, even if she invariably responded with -

“Don’t contradict me - I do know my own family.  Well help me up, don’t just sit there!”

Ivan took the Dowager’s arm and as soon as she stood she tapped her stick against his leg.  “Go away now- go speak to someone your own age.  No wonder you’re not married yet.”

“Does this mean I’ve lost my chance with you, Dowager?”

She laughed loudly and patted his cheek.  “You cheeky boy– too, too handsome for your own good, and I know you’ve made the most of it,” she added drily.

“I have no idea what you mean,” he said and kissed her hand. 

*******

**Lady Alys’s Apartment**

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_All the things that she needed from me  
All the things that she wanted for me  
All the things that I should've given –_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Are you going to the Koudelka Snow Bash?” His mother asked

Ivan looked up from eating the vegetables he was also ineptly dicing.  “You mean the Koudelka Blood Bath?”- a more apt description, in his opinion, for the annual match with the Koudelka girls. It was a cross between wrestling, a snow ball fight and unarmed combat.  There were two matches across a weekend, which also involved a lot of rich food, booze, conversation and no sleep.  It was usually exhausting fun, but this year he knew it would be different.

“Why do you ask?”

“You’ve never missed one.”

“No, I’ve missed _more_ than one.”

“Don’t be facetious.  You know what I meant.  You’ve not missed any when you’ve been on planet.”

Ivan flexed his starch ridden wet fingers, as his mother placed the freshly made stock for the soup aside.  It filled the kitchen with a rich scent that made his stomach rumble.  “Don’t you have some of this soup left over from last time?” he asked, demolishing a carrot. 

“No, you finished it off.” She paused before she spoke again.  “Olivia came to see me, she asked me to talk to you.”

“Huh.  You mean to talk me into it?  I told her I’d think about it.” 

Olivia shouldn’t have run to his mother.  Now he really felt like not going. 

This must be why his mother had got rid of Michaela and why she was doing the cooking instead.  The spiced soup was the one dish his mother never let anyone else make and she always made Ivan come over and help her.  It usually meant she wanted to trap him for a talk.  The soup took an age to prep and cook because his mother refused to use any of the automated appliances, sticking to the ancient secret family recipe and method with a stubbornness Ivan knew not to argue with. 

She sat down and finished off chopping the rest of the vegetables, more efficiently than Ivan’s slow work, which seemed to involve more eating than chopping.  She poured them both a glass of wine.

“I’m not going to try and talk you into it, Ivan, and I told Olivia just that.  I also advised her that running to me in this instance wasn’t a wise tactic and you wouldn’t appreciate it.”

Ivan couldn’t help but laugh but he noted the ‘in this instance’.  “You didn’t _have_ to tell me, mother.”

“Of course I did and I told her I was going to. I want you understand how it is for Olivia.  She’s always been quite sentimental about these family traditions; more so since Kareen left and now Delia will be leaving too. She thinks this will be the last Snow Bash with you all together, it’s important to her, Ivan, especially with Kareen not able to come home and Miles not there either.“

“He won’t be there?  Why not?” 

“He’s off to Komarr next week.  You didn’t know?”

 _Typical damn Miles._ Ivan finished the last vegetable and threw down the knife with a laugh.  “You’d think I’d be used to being the last to know by now,” he said standing up and going to the sink to wash his hands.

“Everything is all right, isn’t it?” she asked softly.   “Between you and Martya?  Olivia assures me that Delia and Martya want you there too.”

“It’s all fine,” he said, not wanting to discuss this again.   “I suppose it’s going to be a long while until we make this soup again or have any of our dinners - you being busy with all the wedding preps.”

“You’ll be busy too,” she said, allowing him to change the subject.

“Yeah, time to request that transfer…”

“It will be refused, I assure you.”

He laughed and she gave him a serious look.  “Thanks for keeping Dowager Vorsmythe away from the Toscanes.  Gregor has warned Laisa but we don’t want to assault her with all Barrayar’s colourful personalities all at once.  What did you talk about?”

“Oh, you know - the usual.”

“I doubt that.  You usually tell me straight away, so I’m assuming this time it was mostly about me.”

Ivan took his wine, leaned against the sink and shrugged.  “She admires you.”

“She said that?” she asked with a slight shake of her head.  She stood and placed the vegetables and the secret spice mix into the soup stock.    “You never quite know which way she’s going to go.  But judging by the gossip, I’ve fallen off quite a few of the strange pedestals people had put me on.”  She seemed quite pleased by this.

“There’s a lot of speculation.”

“Yes?”

Ivan knew it wasn’t going to be enough for his mother but he shook his head.

“What is it?  You know I don’t give it any weight but I’d rather know what people are saying, it’s important to know, Ivan.  I shouldn’t have to tell you this.”

“She called Laisa a short, fat Komarran chit,” he offered.

She raised an eyebrow.  “If that’s the worst thing she can say about Laisa, she must like her more than we thought.”

“I’m not ungrateful,” he burst out suddenly.  “I know you’ve done a lot for me.” He drank the rest of his wine in one gulp.   “I just- I – wanted to say that.”

A long pause.  “You don’t have to, Ivan, I know.  And I’m not ungrateful either…for my son.” Ivan kissed her cheek with a weak smile and she looked at him in concern.   “That must have been quite a chat you had with the Dowager.”

“It was very one sided.”

“I can well imagine, but she’s never got to you before.”

“She didn’t get to me,” Ivan protested, “she just - she said something…”

“About?”

 “Oh you know how she goes on.”

“Ivan, love, do you really want to go the long way round?”

Ivan poured himself more wine and told her as she liked to hear it, verbatim with no opinion.  Sometimes it was like reporting to his CO except this was excruciatingly worse.  When he got to the part about the ungrateful children and Helga she stopped stirring the soup and let out a derisive snort. “You don’t have to go any further…let’s sit down.  I know that wasn’t comfortable for you.”

“And it was for you?” he asked.

“ _Do_ you find me hard to read, Ivan?”

Ivan knocked back more wine.  “Sometimes, yes.  But it’s alright, mother.  It’s not…it’s fine.” 

“I’m not sure it is.  You haven’t asked me anything about Simon.  Why not?”

Ivan was startled by the question.  She gave him a sympathetic smile.  “It’s not a trick question.”

“Can we have a rain check on this conversation?”

“No.”

He sighed.  “You told me enough.  It’s none of my business.  It’s not as if I don’t know who he is.”

“There’s nothing you want to ask me?”

There were a million things he wanted to ask and also a deep desire to pretend it was all going on somewhere else.  But there was one thought which wouldn’t leave him alone. A thought competing with the _how long has this really been going on_ -question.  It was now or never.

“You had a plan for me, that I’d be married and a captain by 26. Would that have changed anything for you?  Honestly?” He was surprised at his own bluntness and the sudden churning ache.

She let out a sharp breath. “Oh, Ivan.  I hoped  it wouldn’t be this.  But I told you, I planned and wrote many things after your father was killed.  You were only a few months old when I wrote that plan.  I wish you hadn’t seen that ridiculous thing.” 

Ivan wished it too.  “That isn’t a no.”

His mother let out a strained laugh.  “Life doesn’t work in straight lines, Ivan.  Why do you always want everything to be a yes or a no, right or wrong, black or white even though you know there’s so much grey?”

“I don’t see there’s anything wrong with wanting…clarity,” he said.  

“Then you have to have it with the context.  Listen, after your father was killed, my main plan was to carve a space for you and me without relying on anyone else – wherever I reasonably could.”

“Aunt Cordelia said you were under a lot of pressure to remarry.”

She looked at him in surprise.  “You talked to her about this?”

“God, no.  This was years ago.  I - eh…overheard her talking to Uncle Aral; she said you handled it with more grace than those men deserved.” That memory bit him again, of one of those men and he frowned.  “Did she know about _him_ – did she know about that _bastard_?”

His mother started at his tone.

Ivan shook his head.  “No, bastard’s too good a name for him.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to talk about him.”

She nodded.  “I know you don’t want to talk about _any_ of this, but perhaps we should have…”Ivan stiffened and she patted down his now tufted up hair, “another time perhaps.  But I didn’t sacrifice any part of my life because of you.  Never think that.  I wish you didn’t need me to say it.”

“But there were sacrifices.”

“Yes, of course - some consciously made, some not. Some things _I_ didn’t regard as sacrifices, but others, like our favourite Dowager, would.  I saw them as duties and compromises, but I don’t regret them.  Everything is connected, Ivan, so of course your life affected mine – you’re my son – but that doesn’t mean your life was detrimental to mine.  Do you see?”

“Hmm…and Gregor is in all that.”

“Yes.  Now you’re not going to ask me where you stand in relation to him are you?”

“Mother!”

She looked relieved and gave him one of those smiles.  “And now we’re back to Simon.  Don’t look like that.  I know it’s different now but I’m not going to force anything with you two.”

Ivan felt a wave of relief.  “So…will he be here on soup days?”

She laughed.  “No, that’s still our day.  When else am I going to interrogate you?”

“And our dinners?”

She hesitated, a hesitation which spoke volumes to Ivan.  “As you say, we won’t have time for many of those in the next few months, but you and Simon - it’s your decision.  I’m not going to create any awkwardness.”       

Ivan nodded and realised she’d left it to him.  _Oh great._   “I think I’ll go to the Koudelkas.”

“Good, I think you need it.  Ah…Olivia did say one more thing.”

Ivan nodded.  “That although she liked me, it was like an _almost_ brother and she doesn’t want to marry me?”

His mother nodded, her eyes laughing.

“Yeah, she told me that too.  I assured her a proposal wasn’t forthcoming.  She was very relieved.  I also told her Kareen wasn’t going to get one either.”

After his mother stopped laughing and commiserating, she told him of a decision she‘d made.  “You’re on your own now.  After my ineffective attempts to find matches for you or Gregor, I’ve come to the conclusion that your generation has a better idea of what you want or don’t want and will find your own way – or won’t,” she added with a rueful smile.

“Hmm.”  Ivan was getting a headache, and the topic of marriage was a depressing one he didn’t want to get into.  “Mother?”

“Yes.”

“Can we talk about something that isn’t me?”

“Do you want to talk about your father?” she asked softly.

 “Do you mind?”

She shook her head.  “Whenever you want to, Ivan.  Simon hasn’t changed that.  Are we understood, my son?”

She gave that last question a weight, a gravity he couldn’t ignore.  He knew he would never fully comprehend all his mother had done for him - part of him didn’t want to - but he thought of what he did know: however much they drove each other a little insane at times, she had protected him, and he would always look out for her in his own way.  And they would both continue to do so simply because…she was his mother and he was her son.

“Yes,” he said with his father’s smile.  “Understood.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I know there's a touch of AU in the Olivia part but it ties in to my Snow Bash fic (incomplete) so I've left it in there.
> 
> The lyrics in the first part and last part (in italics) belong to Kate Bush - This Woman's Work (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UXzx--YefD8) I initially used all the lyrics but it took over so I had to cull it. No idea why it suddenly resonated with Padma and Alys but it did - for me anyway!
> 
> Thanks to Gwynne and K for the beta read and I hope you enjoy reading it.


End file.
